Ron Weasley and the Philosopher's Stone
by AuraPanacea
Summary: this is RON'S take on what went down the trio's first year.


It was the evening before the Big Day, the day he, Ron Weasley, would depart on the Hogwarts Express at last, finally joining his big brothers at the school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Soon he would be learning magic, making friends, watching (and maybe someday playing!) Quidditch, eating in the Great Hall, and at last experiencing everything his family had told him of Hogwarts. Ron was beyond excited; last night he hadn't slept a wink and expected tonight would be much the same.

Presently, he and his brothers were flying down the steps, racing to nab the fastest broom, Charlie pushing Fred, George shoving Ron, and everyone pushing Percy, though if truth be told he did not even care about the broom. Charlie was leaving tomorrow for Romania and the rest would be off to Hogwarts so this would be their last chance to play together for a while. The boys reached the landing with thud and sprinted to the screen door and headed to the shed, laughing, nearly knocking over an old, fragile lamp.

"One moment, Ron!" called his mother from the kitchen, her hands on her hips. She was making sandwhiches for the train ride tomorrow. Silently, Ron hoped they were not corned beef. Anything but that.

"No, mum, I-" he started, trying to keep up.

"Stop right there, Ronald! Are you entirely packed?"

Ron obeyed, coming to a halt to face his mother. In the corner of his eye he could see his brothers getting impossibly far ahead. He avoided his mother's stern gaze and admitted, "Not... exactly. But mum, I _have _to play, please let me go. Look, they're going to get the best brooms,"

He could hear the whine in his own voice, unfortunately. Ron didn't need to wait for his mother's response. "I'm going," he said sullenly, turning right around and doubling back the way he'd come, dragging his feet.

"There's a good boy. You'll thank me tomorrow morning, when you aren't scrambling last minute," he heard his mother say brightly behind him.

He made a noise of recognition and kept climbing up. In truth Ron had not even begun packing yet. He had put it off the past few weeks, always intending to do it tomorrow.

_Well, it shouldn't take long. There's not really much to it, just throw everything in the bag. _he thought, his pace quickening. _Maybe I can still join them..._

Ron reached his room. There was somewhat of a mess, but he was confident he knew where everything was. He began making a pile of things on his bed, lifting stacks of clean laundry from the floor. Beneath his robe he found Scabbers making a meal of his Chocolate Frog card collection.

"Oh, no! Scabbers!" exclaimed Ron, shooing away the rat. Helga Hufflepuff was missing a corner or two ("What a fright! Have care and do not let us into reach of that beast again!"), but other that most everything seemed to be in tact. Ron sighed, tucked the collection safely under his bed and retrieved Scabbers, putting him in his little carrier.

Percy had warned Ron about this; he'd said Scabbers liked to knaw on things that ought not to be knawed, but Ron hadn't heeded his brother's warning. When Ron had left Scabbers, the rat was sunbathing lazily on the window sill. How much damage could an old fat rat do?

"I might just try that old charm of Fred's after all," Ron told him as he continued tossing items onto his bed.

As he did so his thoughts wandered to tomorrow. By this time he would be in the Great Hall with great wizards like Albus Dumbledore and eating all kinds of delicious food, or so his brothers said. Of course, that would be after he was sorted.

"Which House do you think I'll be sorted into, Scabbers?" he asked the rat. In response he gave a little squeak and pattered at the bottom of the carrier with his tiny sharp paws.

"I hope it's Gryffindor," he said hopefully, his packing paused as he thought on it.

"Not talking to Scabbers again, are you, Ron?" asked a voice from the hallway.

"No," said Ron quickly, resuming his packing, now throwing everything into one of his two bags.

His older brother walked in.

"Not out playing?" asked Ron, looking over.

"Short beverage break," he answered, rolling his eyes. "Percy, goodness sakes,"

"How're you and George packed? You're _never _packed until the day of," complained Ron.

"_Fred _and I decided to get it out of the way early this year. So, you're trying to figure out which House you'll get, eh?" he said, plopping down on the bed, a sly smile on his freckled face.

"Maybe," Ron answered.

"Well, I wouldn't worry so much about what the Hat gives you as much as what it'll do to you," he said matter of factly.

"What.. what do you mean? It doesn't-"

"Hurt? Oh no, not too much. At least, not to me; you know I've got a high pain tolerance. But boy, you should have seen Percy-"

"Wait a second, you werent there when Percy was sorted." Pointed out Ron, suspicious.

"I never said I saw him, only that you should have. I heard from older students that he nearly wet his trousers, right there, in front of everyone. You have to go up in front of the entire school, you know. Everyone watches."

Ron wasn't quite sure, this all seemed far-fetched, and all too typical a thing for George to say. But what if he was right? Could it be possible being Sorted was painful? He would ask Charlie or Percy next he saw them.

"George, I have to finish packing," Ron said sternly, pointing to the door.

"Don't be silly, Ron, I'm Fred."

Fred rose to leave, but before he did, added, "If you don't believe me, feel free to ask Scabbers. Why, he's attended plenty of Sortings; he'll know," He gave a little wink.

Ron heard loud footsteps thump down the stairs, fading, then quiet again. He shook his head and threw the last articles of clothing into his bags, zipped them both, and set them near the door. He wasn't entirely sure if he'd packed enough, or too much, or the right sort of thing, but it seemed he had the essentials, so he was contented.

It was too late to go out and join the game by this point. Ron emitted a yawn, stretched. He decided he had better try to get some sleep tonight. He collapsed on his bed. Despite Fred's warning of the perils of sorting, Ron could not help but look forward to tomorrow. Before he finally fell asleep his mind had wandered to anyhting and everything: what the castle would be like, how the classes would be, would the professors be strict, if he would have his own bathroom, who he would befriend, if anyone would want to be his friend, what the boys in his year would be like.

Then he'd recalled something his brothers had said earlier.

_Harry Potter'll be there tomorrow, you can bet._

_D'you think? That is, who would see him off..._

_Dunno, maybe he'll come alone. But Percy did the math and he says if Potter were to start, this would be the year._

_Imagine that, Ron, Harry Potter in _your_ year. Imagine telling your kids about that one day._

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_What do you think? Good idea? Terrible idea? Should i continue? Reviews greatly appretiately as i cannot decide ^^_


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